“This way,” Elira calls, pointing to a small opening between the shadows.
But as I circle back to retreat, that same strange sensation takes over, compelling me forward. “I’m not leaving without her,” I insist.
“But Thaldiran, you don’t even know who she is!” protests Joran. “We don’t know if she can help us. We need to get out of here while we still can.”
I can’t explain it, but I know I can’t leave her. There’s no logical explanation for my behavior, but as the wraiths draw closer, Irefuse to run. Instead, I charge towards them, my sword a blur as I fight with all my might to drive them back.
Chapter Three
Astryl
As I huddle in the darkness of the cave, the distant echoes of battle reach my ears, stirring something primal within me. I know those screams. Wraiths are attacking, and if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that they won’t stop until they’ve obliterated everyone in their path. Wraiths are nasty things, and they’re not known for their mercy.
I have no idea who those creatures have set their sights on, but the fear is palpable, and it sounds as if they’re on the losing side.
Instinct takes hold, urging me to go and aid those in need, despite the dangers lurking beyond the safety of my sanctuary. With a deep breath, I steel myself and step out into the moonlit forest.
The scene that unfolds before me is both chaotic and mesmerizing. Fae warriors with glittering wings cut through the air, their bodies lithe and graceful as they weave through the forest canopy. From a distance, the fighters appear to be two swarms of shimmering light, one black and one gold. The black swaths the sky, slithering towards its opponents with a terrifying speed. The gold swath is equally swift, but its movements are more coordinated, more strategic. It’s not difficult to know which side to join. Despite the age-old animosity between dragon shifters and fae, I can’t just stand idly by and watch them be slaughtered. Fae may be egotistical and conceited, but wraiths are downright deadly.
And I’m always up for a good fight.
Without hesitating, I dive into the fray, relying on my fists and years of combat training to hold my own since I can’t shift. Amid the chaos, a figure stands out—a fae warrior who seems to command the others with a natural authority. His golden eyes, intense and focused, scan the battlefield with a keen awareness. Jet-black hair falls in gentle waves around his face, framing high cheekbones and a strong jawline that speaks of both nobility and strength. Tall and muscular, he carries himself with a confidence that belies his youth. Even without knowing who he is, I’m drawn to him, captivated by his physical presence and the way he leads.
In the heat of the battle, fire erupts from my fists, a wild and primal force that mirrors the fury coursing through me. The wraiths recoil as the flames lick at them, their dark forms hissing and dissipating into smoke when touched by the searing heat.
The fae warrior with golden eyes and jet-black hair fights with graceful ferocity, his sword slicing through the shadows with deadly precision. I watch in awe as he whirls and strikes, his every movement a dance of death that leaves wraiths crumbling in his wake. His warriors follow suit, their glittering wings a bluras they dart through the air, their weapons flashing like shooting stars against the dark backdrop of the night.
“Stay close!” the fae warrior shouts, his voice cutting through the chaos. His golden eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment and issue a silent command that I find myself obeying without question. I stick by his side, my fists still ablaze, as we carve a path through the wraiths, pushing them back.
The fae warriors rally, their movements becoming more coordinated and aggressive. It’s as if they’ve found a second wind with my joining the fray, their confidence growing with each victory. With a final, coordinated assault, the remaining wraiths are vanquished, and their dark essence dissipates into the night sky like ashes on the wind.
Panting, with adrenaline still coursing through our veins, we stand amidst the aftermath of the battle, our chests heaving and our eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of lingering danger. Slowly, the fae warriors lower their weapons, and when they turn to face me, it’s as though they’re seeing me for the first time. And maybe they are. They’ve been so focused on the battle, they’ve hardly noticed the stranger accompanying them.
Golden eyes lock onto mine in an intense scrutiny that feels almost invasive. The leader takes a step closer, his presence commanding even in the aftermath of battle. His golden wings fold gracefully behind him as he says, “I’m Thaldiran. And you are?”
“Astryl,” I answer cautiously, wary of the way he’s studying me. “I was just passing through when I heard the commotion. Thanks for not turning your swords on me.”
He chuckles softly, but the amusement doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s looking at me in that same condescending way all fae look at dragon shifters, like we’re the lesser species of the sky. “You’re no ordinary traveler, Astryl. I sensed you. Wewere looking for you when we were ambushed. Who knows what might have happened otherwise.”
“Why were you looking for me?” I ask.
His eyes run over my body, taking in every inch of me. “I’m not sure,” he replies after a moment. “You’re a dragon shifter, I can sense that much. But what else? Something... unique.”
“What makes you say that?” I challenge.
“Your aura is unlike anything I’ve ever sensed before,” he admits. “You’re...” He closes what little distance there is between us and sniffs the air. “You’re an angel.”
“I am a dragon shifter, that much is true. But an angel? You’ve lost me.”
He seems taken aback, his golden eyes widening for a split second before regaining their composure. “You mean you don’t know? Your dragon lineage isn’t purely of this realm. You’re a hybrid, Astryl. Part angel.”
I snort, the absurdity of his claim bringing me to a state of laughter. “That’s preposterous, and you know it. Angels are real, sure. But hybrids? Come now. What’s next? Am I supposed to sprout a halo and start playing a harp?”
His expression tightens, his patience clearly fraying at the edges. “This is no jest, Astryl. Your angelic heritage could be the key to defeating the Shadowlord. Your powers are unique, unparalleled. You have a responsibility to—“
“A responsibility?” I interrupt, my voice rising. “I have no responsibility to you or your cause. I don’t even know who you are or what you’re fighting for. Why would you expect me to suddenly jump into your mess because you think I’m an angel?”
“Because you are an angel, and I’m telling you the truth. It’s your duty to—“
